


i want to hold your heart (in both hands)

by kissmeinnewyork



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, Romance, beca mitchell is a mess, five plus one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmeinnewyork/pseuds/kissmeinnewyork
Summary: "No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She's literally the only person on this Earth who can say that." Beca Mitchell is a mess, like, all the time. But Chloe loves her anyway.





	i want to hold your heart (in both hands)

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt (how drunk was i?) which i took major liberties with. Also the second part is not totally ripped off from the film Mr Right or anything. Hope you enjoy, comments and kudos always appreciated xx

**(i) why did you have to go like that**

The ICCA’s are the biggest win the Bella’s have had in _years,_ so understandably the after party has to be pretty spectacular. Spectacular turns out to be Stacie and Cynthia-Rose’s hotel room, apparently—not that Chloe’s complaining, because everything she needs is right here, her weird and messed-up family high on adrenaline and drunk out their _minds._

Well. She says high on adrenaline. But Beca is just _high._

“Where did you even get pot from?” Chloe asks, as she watches Beca spin round and round and round in the hallway, her shirt a blur of blue mixing with the cream of the walls. There’s a glass of wine in her right hand but most of its now on the floor or her shoes. Chloe’s actually kind of glad, because Beca _really_ doesn’t need any more to drink, but Beca’s the kind of person who adamantly argues she’s sober when puking up vodka in the bathroom. “You can’t have got it from one of us. Aubrey has, like, a sixth sense when it comes to illegal substances. She’s a human sniffer dog.”

Beca laughs, stumbling violently as she finally stops spinning. Luckily Chloe’s not a total mess yet so she reaches out just in time to grab her, gripping onto Beca’s floppy forearms. “Chloe. _Chloe._ Why are you all blurry? And why is everything _green?_ ” Her hands reach out and start touching Chloe’s face, fingers prodding at her cheeks. “God, your skin is _so soft._ Like, if I could make a blanket out of your skin, I totally would.”

“You’re not making a blanket out of my skin, Beca.”

“A blanket out of your _skin?”_ Beca says, like this is a completely new concept to her and not something she mentioned seconds earlier. She steps back but Chloe clings on, because someone has got to keep this bitch from falling over and slamming her head on the wall. “That’s gross, dude! Why would I even do that?”

Beca’s look of total outrage is so fucking funny but Chloe chews her lip, trying to supress a laugh. “Did Jesse give you the pot?”

Beca narrows her eyes in an extremely drunken way that makes it look like she has no idea who Jesse is. Chloe’s heart shifts uneasily in her chest, thinking about Beca and Jesse. It’s weird. She doesn’t know why its weird, because that whole thing was far from a surprise—she arranged a mix for him, sang to a TV audience for him, kissed him like the whole world wasn’t watching except it _was_ —but she’s the one who has seen Beca naked, so—

“It might have been Jesse,” Beca says, her words slurring and tripping over each other, “But it might have been someone else. Wearing red. But he smelt _amazing._ ” She makes a point of sniffing Chloe’s shirt, her face suddenly inches away from her skin. “You smell amazing too. Like fucking—rainbows, or some shit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Chloe asks, humouring her, “Because last time I check rainbows didn’t smell like anything. Maybe damp air or something.”

“No, no, _no!_ Don’t be stupid. Rainbows are the best smell ever. They smell like…”

For a second, time stops, and Chloe can see the way Beca’s eyes drift to her lips and she wants to (like, so, _so_ much) but Beca’s sort-of got a boyfriend now and Chloe’s many things but she’s not _that_ girl. “You’re very drunk right now.”

“I am _not_ drunk,” Beca says, as expected. The moment is snuffed out like a candle but the electricity remains, stuttering under the surface. Beca squirms out of her grip and it’s like she’s miles away, not metres, because Jesse just so happens to open the bedroom door opposite and catches her like a safety net.

“Ah, Mr Bond,” Jesse says, in a low purr—his limbs are as loose as hers are but he somehow manages to scoop her in perfectly, like she’s always belonged inside his grip. Chloe smiles at the exchange. She’s never noticed the way her stomach just _falls_ before, like the floor is going to swallow her up, forget she was even here. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Beca smiles giddily. Chloe wishes it didn’t kill her, seeing her so happy with someone else. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

And they kiss, again, like there’s nobody watching, except there is. Chloe tears her eyes away. There’s a Sia song playing in the other room and a shit-ton of tequila and they’re still ICCA champions, which is something, even if it’s only half the happy ending she kind of wished for.

-x-

**(ii) just because i’m a mess doesn’t mean this has to end**

Chloe knows something’s up the minute she walks into the Bella house and sees Jessica, sitting at the kitchen table, chewing aggressively on a pale-pink thumbnail. When she closes the door, the noise alerts her as well as Stacie, Lilly and Cynthia-Rose, who are all sat round the corner on the couches. They’re giving of the weirdest vibe and it makes Chloe feel very uneasy.

“Why do you all look so terrified?” Chloe asks incredulously, dropping her bag by the coffee table. “Did one of you smash my Spice Girls mug? Because that was limited edition and one of my favourites, so if you have—“

“Beca’s in the closet,” Stacie blurts out, “And she won’t come out.”

“In the closet?” Chloe manically turns around and spies at least half a dozen shot glasses littered across the kitchen table, which can only mean one thing. “Okay. So which one of you let Beca day drink?”

“We couldn’t stop her!” Cynthia-Rose squawks, arms flailing madly, “She said she had a taser in her purse!”

Chloe narrows her eyes. Cynthia-Rose shrinks back on the sofa, as if she’s attempting to melt in between the cushions. “Really. Where do you think Beca would get a taser from?”

“I have a supplier,” Lilly says. No-one hears her, as per, so Chloe just stares at her, faintly annoyed. “Do any of you guys want a machine gun?”

Chloe shakes her head. There’s a loud bang from upstairs and the light-fitting shakes, and everyone in the room looks unanimously terrified. It’s… not the first time Beca’s got in the closet and it never usually ends well. She’s pretty sure Ashley still has a scar. She breathes deeply, in and out, mentally preparing herself for the shitstorm that is inevitably occurring around them. “Okay. Okay. Is anyone up there with her?”

“Amy is,” Stacie says, “But we haven’t seen her in a while so who knows if she’s still alive.”

She’s probably still alive, Chloe reasons, because Beca can be a fierce little fuck when day-drinking but at the end of the day she’s still only five foot two and Amy has vividly retold the time she wrestled six crocodiles and The Rock simultaneously on numerous occasions, so. Amy’s resourceful. She’ll have fashioned a makeshift weapon from tampons and pencil shavings if needs be.

Chloe grabs a bottle of water, a packet of chips and a hockey stick for good measure, before heading into battle solo.

-x-

Beca and Amy’s room looks like the aftermath of a tsunami.

Chloe wades through piles of clothes and toilet roll and notebook paper. A broken toaster lies desecrated on the carpet (she’d always wondered where that had gone) and a string of photobooth pictures are half-melted inside. She can just about see that the warped, grinning faces are Beca and Jesse.

_Oh, honey._

She leaves the hockey stick by the door and follows the muffled shouting. Amy’s trying to wedge open the closet door with a spatula, her face streaked in black warpaint (eyeliner) and a very determined expression, gritting her teeth. Beca is basically just screeching. Every so often she can see a glimpse of her tiny fingertips, fighting to keep the door shut.

“What is going on?” Chloe whispers harshly. Amy breaks off her mission for a moment, panting, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She eyes the chips in Chloe’s hands and takes them for herself.

“You brought snacks!” she says, ecstatic, ripping into the bag. “I have been working pretty hard. She’s being a hot mess. Emphasis on the _mess._ Also hot, because it gets toasty in there if you sit with the door shut for too long. Trust me. Just because it has no windows, doesn’t mean you should make it into a sauna.”

Chloe doesn’t want to know the story behind how Amy managed to work that out. Like, ever. “Why has she been drinking? Is she okay?”

Amy swallows a mouthful of chips. “Movie nerd dumped her. She’s a bit bummed about it. Started slamming the vodka as soon as she got in and hasn’t stopped for several hours. She also smashed your Spice Girls mug, so don’t blame me for that. I told her it was limited edition and she just started crying.”

Okay, so her assumptions are basically confirmed, and she’s not even that upset about the mug, not when Beca’s in this state. A broken heart is more pressing that some broken china, even if that china is a limited edition signed-by-Baby-Spice mug and everything. “Yeah. I saw the… toaster.”

“She tried using the barbecue, but that thing is definitely broken and I thought she might accidentally set the house on fire. I was like Beca, yes, I totally understand why you’d want to burn everything that reminded you of that dick, but maybe not our house too? Because I know we all have little regrets after we’ve been drinking but that would be… like, quite a big and expensive one and also you might go to prison for arson.”

“True,” Chloe nods. She leans forwards, knocks lightly on the cupboard door. There’s definite movement from inside but no response, like Beca’s trying to pretend she isn’t in, which doesn’t really work with a closet. “Beca, I know you’re in there.”

“Fuck off, Amy!”

Even when drunk, it astounds Chloe that Beca can’t tell the difference between their voices. “Beca, sweetie, it’s Chloe. Can I come in?”

There’s a moment of quiet, then a small voice: “Chloe?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she says, “I’m coming in, so, like, please move any sharp things you’ve got in there—“

She slowly pulls the doors open and Amy stands on guard, spatula at the ready. The sight she beholds is both extremely sad yet somehow adorable. Beca’s curled amongst a fur coat and several pairs of boots, a huge beanie covering her hair, her face streaked with tears. A half-finished bottle of vodka hangs loosely in her left hand.

When Chloe crouches down and brushes some of her damp hair away from her face, Beca chokes out another sob, a loud wail which is totally unlike Beca—she’s the kind that usually sits on her emotions until she eventually bursts, days’ worth of anger or anxiety or depression exploding out of her without limit, usually when drunk. This is Beca blown wide open. The side that nobody is usually allowed to see. Maybe that’s why she’s in the closet, after all. Maybe this is what this whole thing is.

“Oh baby,” Chloe murmurs, wrapping her in the tightest hug imaginable, “I’m sorry. I know, it sucks, I know.”

“I was going to dump him anyway,” Beca says, definitely wiping snot on Chloe’s sleeve, “He wasn’t supposed to do it first.”

Chloe’s not sure how much of that is true. Beca’s always been quite reserved about her relationship, like it was only ever hers, not to be discussed with anyone else. Maybe it would have helped if she had.

(Maybe it would have helped if Chloe didn’t try to change the subject every time Jesse was brought up in conversation, reminding her of what he’s got and she doesn’t.)

Chloe clambers into the closet beside her, shutting the doors, Amy knowing where she’s not needed. They hold each other for a long time. She’s not sure how long, but it’s safe and warm and _home,_ and maybe Beca’s realising the same things she is. Or maybe she isn’t.

“I’m sorry about your mug,” Beca says hoarsely after a minute or maybe an hour. “Sometimes I get mad and inadvertently break things. I never mean to, you know? I don’t break anything on purpose. Things just… naturally shatter around me.”

Chloe presses a kiss to her forehead. Yeah, she breaks things. Everyone does. But Beca—she always tries to put things back together again. And that’s the important thing.

(A few weeks later a mug appears on the sideboard. It’s a Spice Girls mug, signed by Baby Spice, and Chloe grins as she unfurls a note.

_I got this shipped over from the UK as nobody over here listens to the Spice Girls anymore, so you better appreciate it. –B_

_P.S. I promise I’ll never break anything of yours ever again._ )

-x-

**(iii) you’re alright love**

“Hello, you’ve reached Chloe Beale! Pretty please leave a message after the tone and I promise I’ll get back to you!”

**Message One (1:56am) FROM BECS**

_Wow, okay, so you’re not answering, which is—cool, I guess, it must be pretty late in Atlanta? I can’t remember. I’m fucking stupid. Anyway, call me back when you get this. Bye!_

**Message Two (2:03am) FROM BECS**

_Yes, I know, another message but like… I’m stuck at this party the label are doing and it’s so dull, you know? It’s like I keep scanning the room looking for you. But you’re not here. And whenever I realise that I think of you waving me goodbye at the airport and I—okay, I’m way too sober and this is way too sappy for me to even begin, fucking Christ. Talk to you later._

**Message Three (2:46am) FROM BECS**

_Holy FUCK these drinks are strong. I feel like I could be in space, but I’m not in space. I’m in LA. And you’re in Georgia. Why are you in Georgia? Can’t you come over here? My apartment is so lonely without you_

**Message Four (3:15am) FROM BECS**

_CHLOE!!!!! Oh my god, I’m so fucking drunk and one of the guys I work with keeps giving me the eye and I’m like dude? I’m gay? And I have a girlfriend who I love very much? And she’s two thousand and one hundred and seventy-five miles away which I totally did not just Google on my phone in the bathroom or anything?_

**Message Five (5:38am) FROM BECS**

_I don’t know what I’m doing, Chloe. I don’t think I can live here much longer. There’s like this… hole, yeah a hole, and I thought I could manage it like I always do but I can’t and the only person who can fix it is you, and… holy shit, what am I even doing? Is this vodka talking? I think it might be, but also I think it might not be, and I just want to be in bed with you right now and not at this stupid party with these stupid people who aren’t you. I love you so much. It’s actually sickening. Freshman me with her earspike and Doc Martens is looking at me right now thinking who the fuck are you? But freshman me was me before you, and thinking about a time in my life without you in it actually makes me want to cry. Ugh. How many months is it until I see you again?_

**Message One (7:59am) TO BECS**

Okay so _you’re_ the one who isn’t picking up now, which is a bit much to be honest, after all those messages. They were beautiful, Becs. Very poetic, but also very drunk. I’m sure you won’t remember any of them but don’t you worry, I definitely will. I’m not going to forget gems like _I love you so much it’s actually sickening_ in a hurry. For the record, everything you said was what goes through my head on a daily basis. My life is so empty and boring without you in it. I miss you more than Brownie Batter Ben and Jerry’s and believe me, that’s quite a lot. I totally love you, Beca. And to answer your question, it’s exactly three months and twelve days until we’re reunited at the airport like all my favourite romcom couples rolled into one. I’m _definitely_ going to catch you in my arms and spin you round, by the way. Just so you can prepare for it. Call me back when you get this.

**Message Six (12:07pm) FROM BECS**

_I have just woken up discovering that last night I left you exactly five voicemail messages, one about fifteen minutes before I passed out on a fucking garden table. Excuse me while I die of shame then set myself on fire and never live this down for the rest of my life. I still totally love you, though._

-x-

**(iv) i’d be a fool to let you go**

“Fuck. How drunk was I?”

Beca’s stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring at some rather impressive handiwork—every inch of their kitchen is covered in post-it notes, top to bottom, in a range of colours and sizes. The grill, the counter, the back wall, the television: literally every available surface is electrified with fluorescent pink or yellow or green. There’s a leftover sandwich out on the table (evidence of Beca’s late night snacking) and even _that_ has a post-it note, Chloe peeling it off with her finger and sticking it on Beca’s forearm.

“You’re alarmingly precise when fucked,” Chloe remarks, “These are all, like, perfectly symmetrical.”

Beca narrows her eyes then nods. She wanders over to the refrigerator and opens it, letting out a sigh of relief on noticing that the inside has been left untouched by her post-it rampage. “Where did I even get all this shit from? I don’t remember going to a stationery supply store. Or did I? Those places aren’t usually open at three am, are they?”

“None that I’ve heard of,” Chloe says. Beca turns, utterly stumped. She looks really adorable when confused. It’s hardly Chloe’s fault that she’s just so kissable—even if she’s basically destroyed their tiny kitchen with her late-night interior design sessions. She slinks her arms round Beca’s waist and Beca grins, ridiculously happy, kissing her back with a fervour that having their own apartment together allows.

It’s perfect. She’s in her pyjamas, with her girlfriend, in their own little apartment. It feels like a reward. Something they both deserve. Finally.

“I can’t believe I’m here, with you,” Chloe murmurs softly, “I’m actually living with my crazy girlfriend.”

“You’re going to start regretting it when I keep pulling stunts like this,” Beca says, snatching a quick kiss, “This is why you should always come with me to parties. Then at least we can cover our whole house in sticky notes together while drunk out of our minds.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Chloe says, and it’s the complete and honest truth.

(It’s something Beca always has to hear. _I won’t leave you like everyone else did._ It’s everything. It’s everything.)

-x-

**(v) i’ll still fall in place**

**FAT AMY**

So which one of you bitches gave short-ass a triple fucking vodka

The girl is off her FACE and embarrassing me in front of my boyfriends

**STACIE**

Boyfriends? U bitch. Unfair that u get all the dick

**FAT AMY**

It’s my birthday Stacie the least I deserve is some mediocre ex-Treble dick

**AUBREY**

???

**FAT AMY**

Oh my God Aubrey you cannot tell me that the vow was a lifelong thing

Because if that’s the case Beca literally dated one of those douchebags for 2 years

Also: she’s just started twerking

She’s killing my vibe and it’s MY BIRTHDAY

**LILLY**

I killed someone once for a twinkie.

**FAT AMY**

…

@chloe please come and pick up your gf

I’ve told her I’ve recorded her dabbing on snapchat and she still doesn’t seem to give a shit

**CHLOE**

Where the hell r u ????

**FAT AMY**

Outside by the speakers

She’s started beatboxing and it’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever seen

And I’ve seen Bumper’s cock

**AUBREY**

AMY

DON’T EVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN

**ASHLEY**

I’m near the speakers, I could come and help sober her up a bit?

**FAT AMY**

Sorry who are you?

Doesn’t matter anyway, Red’s claimed her

And NOW they’re kissing

I can’t believe that twerking-beatboxing-dabbing mess is getting some and I’m not

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY

**CYNTHIA-ROSE**

Wait Amy where are you?

**FAT AMY**

Bitch don’t even pretend you’re looking for me

I know what you want

And they’ve both disappeared sooooo

**CYNTHIA-ROSE**

:(

**EMILY**

I’ve just seen Chloe and Beca go upstairs! Are we having a slumber party? I forgot my pajamas but I could go back and get them?? :)

**FAT AMY**

You sweet summer child

-x-

**Interlude – i filled a little book with your poetry**

Fat Amy’s bed is big, like if she moves she’ll fall off the edge of the world.

But her whole world is right here, her head resting on her chest, eyelids fluttering shut and a smudge of red lipstick on her cheek.

Her world is five-foot-two and feisty and drunk and she’s _beautiful._

-x-

**(vi) kiss my first love with you on repeat**

It’s three am and Chloe’s head is all swirly and her whole body feels weightless, like if it wasn’t for Beca’s arm anchoring her to the sidewalk she’d just fly up and up and up, sitting among the clouds. Today has probably been the best night of her life. But then—she’s with Beca, so every night is probably the best night of her life, and its days like these that she realises she’s the luckiest person in this entire world. No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She’s literally the only person on this Earth who can say that.

“Dude,” Beca says, her voice the only sound in the silent street, “Can you at least try to walk in a straight line? I can’t keep you balanced and I’d rather you didn’t get run over by a truck. The medical bill would be monster, to start with.”

“Yes, Beca,” she replies, folding in a little too far and causing Beca to stumble, “But I’m not straight, am I? How can you expect me to walk in a straight line when I’m not even straight?”

Beca bites her lip, grinning. “Oh. Wow. You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I? God, I’m so funny. You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca replies, smirk prevalent, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Chloe’s smile is giddy and contagious, happily drunk, her heart beating twice as fast in her chest. Because it’s 3am, and she’s with Beca Mitchell, and everything couldn’t be more fucking _right._

“We should get married,” she says, suddenly, like a revelation. They pause in the middle of the street for a second and Beca looks back at her, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t that be the best? We’d be like… we’d be us, but _married._ ”

Beca doesn’t say anything, and looks like she might cry. Then she bursts out laughing.

“Chloe. We’re already married, you weirdo. You really are drunk.”

Chloe presses a hand over her chest, overwhelmed, tears pricking at her eyes. It’s like she’s been told the most wonderful thing ever. Oh yeah. She’s _already_ put a ring on it. “Oh my god. That’s awesome. You’re beautiful. I love you.”

Beca grins and it starts to rain, like actually pour, the clouds rumbling with thunder and soaking them through. Beca gasps, looking up, water trickling down her cheekbones. It’s honestly too perfect a moment to waste.

Chloe grabs her face and kisses her, in the middle of the street, the air smelling like heat and summer and tequila, and she’s kissing her _wife_ and she’s drunk and yeah, this is definitely the best night of her life.


End file.
